


Shuck it, I love him

by Nox_Rufus



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Running, maze runner - Freeform, mention suicide attemp, pre thomas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 04:36:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15331914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nox_Rufus/pseuds/Nox_Rufus
Summary: Minho loves Newt, this is no news. Fatigue and general irritation finally push him to come clean.Pre Thomas Era





	Shuck it, I love him

_Left, right, right, right, left, right, left_. He knows the path by heart, has walked it so many times. It has been over two years of _left, right, right_. He knows what it means, and he has tried his hardest to be the only one to behold the knowledge: The maze has been mapped, there is no way out. Yet he runs and runs, day after day; in a vain belief that it might preserve hope.

            In all honestly, he is tired. He is so shucking fed up he can’t stand it anymore. His body continues to run, his mind continues to map but he is still in bed. And yet, despite all his fruitless running, he knows there’s a way out. There has to be. There must be a reason, and the reason must be something other than killing them off one by one. They are getting out of here; who exactly he doesn’t know, but he is getting out and so is Newt.

            That’s his only guarantee.

 

            Returning _home_ after running has always been like a parade. The runners arrive to a crowd of people waiting for them, all clamping them on the shoulder and counting them. Minho always comes back last; as keeper, he feels it is his duty to finish the bouquet and round them up. As he returns, he recognises the faces of the people he _grew up with_ , and vaguely interrogates himself on the names of the last three greenies.

            In the front, there is always Newt. He flashes Minho a quick relieved smile, shakes his hand and walks away to his own business. Brief but it’s everything Minho needs to get up and run the next morning.

            Except tonight he is so tired that he can’t sleep, and he thanks his lucky stars that tomorrow is his day off. He watches the stars, unmoving in his hammock, wondering why he didn’t accept that offer of a bed. He sighed and got up, walking towards the deadheads where he knew he would find peace from Chuck and Gally’s snoring.

            He’s there no more than ten minutes before gentle steps reach him.

            “Hey shank” Newt greets, sitting down next to him “Couldn’t sleep?”

            “Too tired to sleep”

            “That doesn’t make sense”

            Newt’s strong British accent works like a charm and it makes Minho smile. Newt observes him and bumps his shoulder.

            “Hey, are you alright?”

            “Of course I am” Minho replies without thinking. It takes him a second to realise that it doesn’t work on the second. He sighs “I’m fine ok, princess? Shucking tired, that’s all”

            “Good that”

            Newt knows Minho better than anyone, and he knows when to slim it, knows that Minho is not a talker or a thinker. So he gets up pulling the runner with him.

            “Ok, _princess_. You’re going to sleep whether you like it or not. And in a bed”

            “You’re not my mother, slinthead”

            “You don’t know who your mother is, maybe it’s me”

            There’s a pause as Minho looks at Newt; they are standing so close he can feel his heat. Finally he says:

            “I’m adopted” earning a chuckle from Newt who just pushes him on. They are walking towards the homestead where there are a few beds. Newt gained one as second in command. Minho slows down his pace, accommodating for Newt’s limp, as he has always done. That shucking limp that he hates.

            “I’m not going to steal your bed Newt; give me my hammock” He finally says. Newt holds onto his sleeve.

            “You are getting the bed so slim it. Plus you’re not stealing it, there’s room for both of us. Just like our first months”

            In their first months they all shared the homestead, and they all, indeed, shared rooms and beds. Minho looked around at the room. He hadn’t slept there for two years. Last time he was there he was fighting with Newt over his a _ccident_.

            They lay next to each other, their shoulders just barely touching. Minho is just starting to fall asleep when Newt whispered:

            “What are you tired of Min’?”

            Minho has quickly learned that when Newt says _Min_ , then it means business. He sighs.

            “Don’t worry about it, Newt”

            He turns and looks at Minho.

            “I’m serious”

            “So am I. You know the maze, it’s a shucking drag”

            Minho looks him in the eyes, begging him silently to slim it. Newt concedes and turns his back. Not for the first time does he look, wonder if he can move closer. Not for the first does he turn away.

 

            By the time he wakes up, Newt’s gone and day time is strongly upon them. Minho groans at the pain in his muscles and gets up, how he’s always hated remaining in bed. The fatigue is in him and all he wants is breakfast and a lazy day, for once. He steps outside, and as he does, all eyes are upon him. They erupt in whisper, but never discreet, it is the glade after all. Within five minutes Jeff is beside him.

            “Slept well?” He asks with a grin. Minho raises an eyebrow at him.

            “What’s wrong with you?”

            “Just asking if you’ve had a good night”

            “You’re full of klunk”

            He walks on towards Frypan’s kitchen, hoping that breakfast is ready. Of course he notices people staring, but in a way he is so used to it that he doesn’t pay it much mind. He finds the other runners and sits next to them. As food arrives he stops noticing everything. Right now, food is all that matters. So when Ben asks him:

            “Heard you slept with Newt” All Minho can muster is:

            “Hmm”

            The runners seem to find this immensely satisfying and exchange grins, Minho remains completely oblivious. After two mouthfuls, Hank nudges him:

            “So, you told him?” He says.

            “Told him what?”

            “That you love him, obviously”  

            Minho finally stops eating and looks at them with intrigue.

            “What?”

            They roll their eyes as if indeed it’s _obvious_. Minho swallows a last bite and gets up:

            “You’re all jacked” He says and leaves. Sadly the motion follows him. _That he loves him_. Of course he knows it, he’s known it for years, he just wasn’t aware that others knew. He tries to find a place in peace, walking around the Glade, but wherever he goes eyes and whispers follow him. People who ask him how it went, how he had done it, and _finally_. The more he denies it, the more they turn on him, the more they say:

            “Just admit it Minho!” “Tell him!” “Do it!”

            Blame it on the fatigue, on his lack of patience; after a morning complete of that, close to lunch time, he gives in. He stops dead in his tracks, hands balled in fists and exclaims:

            “Yes ok! I shucking love him, now _shut up_ ”

            The Gladers in the gardens and close to the kitchens all turn to look at him. Amongst them he recognizes the stunned look of his best friend. In his eyes, he sees that Newt understands that _him_ means him. And then it’s all over. Minho shoves Clint, the one who pushed him over the edge and walks away to the map room.

            He bangs the table in frustration as he walks in. The look on Newt’s face is enough to make him groan. He grabs a running pack from the wall and slips it on. The door cracks open and by the hairs on his neck, he can tell who it is.

            “You’re not going running are you?” Newt asks. Minho clicks the belt around his torso.

            “Well I’m the shucking keeper aren’t I? Running is what I bloody do” He retorts, shoving Newt aside to get out. The latter would have none of it and grabs his arm.

            “Don’t be so stupid Min’. It’s lunch time already”

            “Don’t you call me stupid. I am going, so slim it”

            Newt tugs him with more force.

            “Stay here you shank” He says “Let’s talk”

            Minho pulls his arm away.

            “No, let’s not” And he runs off. Newt runs behind him, calling his name, inciting others to catch him; to no avail. Minho is the keeper for a reason, because he is the fastest of them all. Without hesitation he runs into the maze, knowing that no one will follow him, and no one does.

            He stays in the inner circle, just sits there. He’s hiding, not running. Time ticks and he can’t even think. He looks at his watch, knowing he’ll have to head back soon enough, and he feels like a fool. There was a going back before, now there is none.

 

            It is not a parade when he goes back; it’s more like the walk of shame. He fully expects what greets him: the council, ready and willing to sanction him. There is no question. He’s not punished too severely; after all, he is the keeper of the runners, he decides who goes in the maze and when. Gally argued that he should be put in the slammer for at least four days; Alby didn’t agree, knowing full well that no runner will go into the maze if Minho is not running. Newt was nowhere to be seen.

            So, 24h in the slammer. It’s his first time and he doesn’t even struggle. Deep down he’s tired of the fight. He steps into the Slammer all on his lonesome and goes to sit in a corner. He rests his head on his knees and hopes he might sleep, even though it is only just sunset.

            He thinks he’s nod off for a bit when a stone is thrown on him, waking him up. Outside the wooden bars he recognizes the fair hair.

            “Hey shank” Newt greets as usual. He is sitting by the bars, head turned towards Minho. The latter just sighs.

            “Hey”

            Newt looks at him in silence for a moment, observing the man he knows so well. He reaches down and hands him a piece of bread that Minho accepts.

            “Min’?” He calls “What are you tired of?”

            The concern is so earnest, so true that Minho can’t not answer. Finally he admits:

            “Of the fight”

            And Newt doesn’t say anything. He knows what it’s like; he has the limp to prove it. He doesn’t judge, doesn’t condemn, he merely worries. Minho stands up so that they are almost on the same level.

            “Why are you here?” He asks. Newt gives him a smile.

            “I needed you in a place where you couldn’t bolt”

            This makes Minho smiles before he remembers and then he wants to bolt once more. He realises there’s no way out for him or their comfortable friendship.

            “Newt” He breathes “Just ignore it okay? It’s nothing”

            “Nothing?” Newt repeats. He turns to face him fully “Tell me the truth now you dumb shuck face: is it true or not?”

            “Of course it’s bloody true” He replies quickly, hoping to get it over with.

            “Then it’s not nothing, is it?”

            “Stop being so smart ass Newt”

            He’s done playing games and returns to sit in his corner. Newt breathes in an exasperated way.

            “Okay. I see there’s no talking to you. I’ll see you tomorrow” He stands to leave and Minho watches him go, wishing he could go back to the previous day.

 

            He slept through it, through the whole glade and the whole day. Alby came and let him out with a warning that he would shove a pole up his jacksie if he ever does it again. Minho sent him a _good that_ and left.

            Now he’s in the map room eating his dinner in, _finally_ , peace. It’s his place. Well, his and Newt’s. It had always been their place. He puts his food away and starts looking at the maps, assembling all the sections together. He’s deep into that when the door creaks open. He’s so preoccupied he doesn’t even notice.

            “Min’, what are you doing?” A sweet British voice says.

            “Mapping, obviously”

            “But why? It’s late”

            “Don’t bugging care”

            Newt comes closer to him, removing his hands from the maps but Minho would have none of it.

            “Min’ please stop” He coaxes.

            “No!” He exclaims “We are getting out of this shucking place if it kills me”

            “Why the sudden rush?”

            “Because!” He grunts “We have to get out of here so I can _bolt_ and we have to get out before you freaking shuck yourself off a wall again!”

            They both stop at the implications. Inside they cry, they have been crying for so long; but on the outside they never will.

            “Is that why Min’?” Newt asks softly “To save my ass?”

            Minho doesn’t answer. Newt takes it as a yes and sighs. He circles round the table and stands in front of Minho.

            “Look at me, you bloody idiot” He says “Just look at me. I’m not going to do that again ok? That’s done. So stop worrying. And for fuck’s sake stop bloody bolting already”

            Minho scoffs, preparing himself to do just that. Just as his master run plan is taking shape, Newt takes his face in his hands and kisses him. He’s so in choc it doesn’t even register before a while. Then finally he dares to look at Newt.

            “See?” The blond adds “It’s not nothing, you tosser. Good that?”

            Not for the first time does Minho read his friends eyes. Not for the first time does he understand what’s in them. And not for the first time does he do what those eyes command. They know each other too well to play those games. He sneaks his arms around Newt’s waist, as he’s wanted to do in their sleep so many times. Finally he breathes.

            “Good that”

            They kiss. And for the first time, Minho doesn’t feel like running away.


End file.
